Page 43 of The Night Nanny

“Don’t be. That’s what babies do. It’s no big deal. Oh, and I’ll be sure to launder your jeans and put them back in your closet.”

I bite my bottom lip. “Feel free to keep them. They’ll likely never fit me again.”

She breaks into a smile. “That is so lovely of you!”

Before strapping my baby into her stroller, she kisses her again. Isa gurgles.

An unexpected pang of jealousy zips through me.

Am I jealous that Nurse Marley looks better in my skinny jeans than I ever did?

Or am I more jealous that my daughter seems so happy and comfortable in her arms?

TWENTY-TWO

NED

This weekend has been the weekend from hell.

Yesterday, I lost my tennis match to Gabe. He trounced me—an embarrassing 60—and I had to buy him breakfast. On the way home from the Beverly Hills Hotel, I drove over a nail and got a flat. Do you think yours truly could change a tire? Put on a spare? I couldn’t even find it in the trunk of my Porsche. So, I had to call the AAA for emergency roadside assistance and wait forty-five minutes for them to show up and fix it.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, when I got home two hours later, my insipid mother-in-law was there. Smoking like a chimney and drinking my premium bourbon. I told her to smoke outside, but she said she would only do that if I brought the rest of her luggage to her room. I don’t know what she brought along, but her bags weighed a ton and I pulled a muscle in my back. It was killing me all day, and when I was about to ask Nurse Marley for therapeutic advice, hoping she’d offer a massage, the baby had a crying fit. After feeding Isa, which calmed her, and putting my daughter down for the night, she went home. The deal we made allows her to leave at 7 p.m. on Saturdays so she can have the rest of the weekend off.

So last night I could hardly sleep because every time the baby cried, I had to get out of bed with my aching back to help Ava feed her. And now it’s Sunday, and I feel like crap. I’m totally wiped out and my back is still killing me despite taking a hot shower and downing Motrin. And I have to help Ava again with the baby because it’s Nurse Marley’s day off. You’d think Ava’s drunk of a mother would be good for something, but she’s not. All she does is sit on the couch with a bourbon and blast the big-screen television. One grating Evangelist show after another.

To make things worse, I have a ton of work to do before I go to my office tomorrow. It’s gonna be a long, stressful week—I’ve got a gazillion fires to put out plus a big meeting with our potential Japanese investors, who are still in town, to hopefully close the deal. I’ve got to get all my ducks in a row.

Drained and distracted, I can’t concentrate on their offer. I keep reading the first paragraph, but the words are all mumbo jumbo. All I can think about is Nurse Marley Manners. How much I would love her to massage my aching back.

Closing my weary eyes, I begin to fantasize our spectacular nanny’s fingers doing their magic when the clickety-clack of heels across the hardwood floor brings me to a screeching halt. My eyes snap open.

It’s my mother-in-law. Why didn’t I lock the door? A wry smile is splayed on her face. An unlit cigarette seesaws between her fingers. And she reeks of tobacco.

“Oh, am I interrupting something important?”

I catch my breath and clear my throat. “Just going over a contract.” I lower my eyes and pretend I’m reading it. Mostly to ignore her. I steeple my hands on my desk as if in prayer, hoping she’ll go away.

My prayers aren’t heard. She doesn’t disappear. She’s something between a leech and a cockroach.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“If you’re not too busy, I’d like to talk to you about something.”

Still avoiding her gaze, I absentmindedly flip a page. “Can it wait?”

“No. It can’t wait.” She punctuates each word. As if this imperious woman is my boss and I’m at her beck and call. I finally meet her gaze.

“Have a seat.” With a jut of my chin, I motion to the two armchairs facing my rosewood desk.

Rigid as a rod, she holds her head high. “I’d rather stand.”

“Be my guest. Make it snappy because I don’t have a lot of time. I’m expecting an important call from my investors abroad.” Sue me; I’ve lied.

“Fine.” She fires the word at me like a spitball. “I’ll get right to the point.” A brief pause, then, “I need seventy-five.”

Christ. Here we go again. I should have known she’s here for me to bail her out of her financial woes. More specifically, to take care of her latest gambling debt.

I inwardly groan. “Seventy-five hundred?”

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